


fire in my blood

by whiry



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Caring Eddie Diaz, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Diaz Speaks Spanish, Evan "Buck" Buckley Speaks Spanish, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Sick!Buck, Sickfic, eddie diaz takes care of buck, not really but really, original title was obligatory sick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiry/pseuds/whiry
Summary: buck gets sick after a play date with christopher. luckily, eddie is there to take care of him.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 339





	fire in my blood

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally titled "obligatory sick fic" and that title still stands 
> 
> fic title comes from "holding out for a hero" by bonnie tyler because that song is awesome
> 
> also: i don't own these characters, the show, or the song used for the title. just a disclaimer!

Buck doesn’t ever get sick. He didn’t when he was a kid and he most certainly doesn’t as an adult. Last time he was sick was when he was eight and he got a slight case of bronchitis after playing outside in the rain in the middle of September for a couple of hours. Maddie had been the one to take care of him; it was her last year before she went off to college and she had stayed with him the majority of that week, the sickest he’d ever been, and she there by his side the whole time. Since then, the most he’s ever gotten were six hour head colds and those vanished with some light medication and a small nap.

But now that he’s introduced a child into his life, he’s realized that his chances for getting sick have greatly increased. He just didn’t realize how sick.

He last saw Christopher two days ago. Christopher was just getting over something he’d caught from his classmates, still a little sick but plenty happy to see Buck and hang out with him. Buck thought nothing of the encounter, until he came home and started feeling queasy. He woke up at three the next morning to throw up, barely making it to the toilet in time. He called Bobby immediately and let him know there was no way he’d be coming in for his shift that day.

Bobby didn’t complain about being called so early, probably because he heard how Buck sounded (already congested and speaking with that little groan that’s commonly reserved for people too sick to properly move their vocal chords) and told him to take it easy, asked him if he needed anything. Buck said no but thank you and hung up, passing out in front of the toilet.

That was yesterday. Today, he’s been no better. Well, he did migrate from the toilet to his bed once his stomach settled down, but he hadn’t made any effort to eat or clean or do much of anything. He’s only gone downstairs once for water, tried to take some pills yesterday morning but threw them up immediately, so he hasn’t attempted a second time.

He feels like death. If he had to speculate and guess what exactly the abstract concept of death felt like on a particular day, he would assume it’d be this feeling. His stomach is still queasy, like he’s on a rocking boat and can’t get his sea legs under him, and his head is so stuffed up and congested that he can only breathe out of his mouth and has to get tissues from his bedside table every couple of minutes to clean the constant stream of mucus running from his nose. He hasn’t thrown up since yesterday, though, thank God, but his prospects still aren’t looking good.

He got “get well soon” texts from everybody: Hen and Chim and Maddie and Bobby and Athena and Eddie sent one out, though his was more “are you okay????” than “hope you feel better!”

Buck’s replied to most of them, but he didn’t to Eddie’s, because he doesn’t really have a good answer. He’s not okay, far from it actually, but he also doesn’t wanna whine and complain especially considering Christopher is definitely the one who got him sick. He doesn’t blame Christopher in any way, shape, or form, and it was Buck after all who insisted on hanging out with Christopher even though Eddie said he was still sick. So, really, it’s his own fault that he’s in this predicament.

It’s still early in the morning, some time before seven if Buck remembers correctly. He still hasn’t worked up the nerve to text Eddie, mainly out of lack of knowing what to say, but he figures Eddie will hear from someone else that he’s okay and that’ll be that.

Of course, Eddie proves him wrong.

As Buck is turning over in bed and quietly whining because of the overall body aches and chills he’s starting to develop, soaking through his sheets despite his constant shakes, he hears a key turn in the door downstairs and it unlock and push open. Only three people have a key to his house: Bobby, in case of emergencies; Maddie, because she’s his sister; and Eddie, because… Well, Buck never did come up with a good excuse as to why he gave Eddie a key, but it’d felt right at the time and it still does, so he doesn’t question it anymore.

Given that Maddie and Bobby are working today, which he knows because he memorized their schedules in case of an emergency, he realizes it must be Eddie. Which isn’t odd, Eddie coming over unannounced, but he never uses the key, even when it seems logical for him to do so. He treats the key like it’s some gift he’s not supposed to have, which makes Buck feel slightly insecure because he doesn’t exactly know why Eddie feels that way, but he also likes that Eddie is seemingly trying to respect his boundaries, even after Buck has all but told him outright that with Eddie, there are no boundaries. He just hopes Eddie doesn’t get the double meaning with those words, the meaning he tries to keep hidden.

Eddie using the key, however, must mean that he understands, or is acting under the assumption rather, that Buck is too sick to open the door, which is true. Buck doesn’t bother rolling back to face the door, knowing that if it is Eddie, he’ll see a Buck-shaped lump in bed and head up this way. And if it’s some intruder who somehow managed to get a key, then at least he’ll be put out of his misery.

Footsteps come up the stairs, telltale plastic shifting and moving in a way that Buck thinks must be a shopping bag in Eddie’s—or the intruder’s, if Buck’s thinking about worst case scenario—hands. Buck stays still, listening as best he can with his plugged ears. Finally, something is set down on the bedside table behind him and a figure leans over his form to peer at his face.

Eddie stares at him, concern etched onto his features. Buck tries to raise an eyebrow, but it just sends a shooting pain into his brain at the movement, and he curls more in on himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Eddie asks, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. He rubs at it through the sheets and comforter, and despite the layers between the skin-on-skin contact, Buck can feel the heat radiating from Eddie. He can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse.

“Di’n’t wan’ you ta worry,” Buck mumbles, his voice muffled by his blankets as he tries to tuck himself back into the covers. Eddie’s hand on his shoulder starts pushing him so he’s forced to lie prone.

Eddie’s hand comes up then and starts—really, there’s no better word for it— _caressing_ Buck’s face, stroking over his cheek, tracing his eyebrows and his birthmark, running gently across his forehead. Buck allows the touches because he’s a weak man, and he doesn’t protest when Eddie suddenly leans down and presses his lips to Buck’s forehead. Buck just closes his eyes and prays this isn’t some kind of terrible fever dream, trying to hold onto this moment forever.

Eddie pulls back, but not far. He whispers, “You have a fever, we need to cool you down,” and his minty breath hits Buck’s face, all too close and yet too far. Buck lets out an entirely unmanly and involuntary whimper that Eddie apparently thinks is due to the fever and not Eddie’s proximity to Buck, if the way he starts rapidly shucking covers is anything to go by.

Buck isn’t wearing a shirt, but he is wearing boxers and sweats, and Eddie has no qualms about helping Buck out of bed, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Buck’s sweats and boxers, and tugging them down. Buck yips and tries to cover it with a fake cough that slightly turns into a real cough. Eddie rises, looking entirely unfazed by Buck’s nudity and more concerned with the coughing. Buck tries to wave him off.

It’s not like they’ve never been nude around each other before, because they totally have. Neither of them cared much in the past—well, Buck never let anyone see how much seeing Eddie nude affected him—but it’s different when you’re disgustingly sick and the man you’re in love with is seeing you stark ass nude and curled in on yourself because you can hardly stand and dripping sweat like the heater is on in mid-July. It’s deadly embarrassing and if Buck thought he was in misery before, he had another thing coming to him.

But Eddie’s a trooper. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist and throws Buck’s arm over his shoulder and hauls him the short distance to the bathroom. Eddie lets Buck lean against the wall while he turns the shower on and then tries to help Buck in.

“It’s cold!” Buck recoils, accidentally throwing himself bodily into Eddie, but Eddie just wraps his arms around Buck and gently rubs his hands up and down his arms.

“It’s fine, Buck, we have to get your fever down. A couple minutes of this and then we can get you feeling better. Do you need me to help you?”

Part of Buck wants to desperately say yes, but he also doesn’t want to take advantage of Eddie’s already gracious generosity. He shakes his head and moves out of Eddie’s arms, to lean back against the shower door.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Eddie tells him and leaves the bathroom door open on his way out. Buck hears him rustling the sheets and figures he’s probably changing them. He silently vows to buy Eddie the biggest present ever for all this.

He showers, secretly turning the water up just a smidge because seriously, Eddie was trying to kill him before. When he gets done, he pulls a towel off the rack and wraps it around his waist, shivering in the now-frigid air. He wonders if that’s just him though, that thinks everything is cold. That’s how it’s been since yesterday, too hot with the covers on, too cold with them off. He’d compromised by taking his T-shirt off last night, but it hadn’t helped much.

He brushes his teeth before exiting the bathroom, because it’s the least he can do for Eddie’s sake. His toilet still isn’t the cleanest, but it’s not like there’s still any of his sick in it, or on it, thankfully. At least Eddie isn’t seeing him how he was yesterday. There’s no recovering from your biggest crush seeing you curled over a toilet bowl and emptying out your stomach contents in the most unsightly of fashions.

There’s fresh clothes laying on his freshly made bed and if Buck thought for a second that Eddie would welcome it, he’d give that man the biggest, hottest kiss he could muster. He’s really a superstar.

Buck pulls on the boxers and sweats and T-shirt, his signature comfy look. He debates adding a hoodie, but Eddie didn’t, which must be for the sake of his health or something, so he doesn’t tempt fate.

He kicks the towel back to the bathroom and heads downstairs slowly, because he can hear Eddie moving around down here. Eddie’s in the kitchen, the plastic bag from upstairs sitting on the counter, looking like it’s been rifled in. Eddie’s stirring something in a pot on the stove, but he throws a glance over his shoulder when Buck gets to the island.

“Do you feel better?” Eddie asks, turning back to check his pot. He deems whatever’s in there done and turns off the burner, getting a bowl and spoon from the cabinet and drawer. Buck likes that Eddie knows where everything is in his place, it makes him feel like Eddie belongs there.

Buck nods when Eddie turns back around, starting to feel the tiniest bit sleepy. Eddie takes the bowl and spoon and heads to the living room, nudging Buck gently on his way past.

Buck follows and takes a seat on the couch at Eddie’s head motions. When he’s seated, Eddie puts a pillow in his lap and rests the bowl on top of the pillow, handing Buck the spoon.

“ _Come_ ,” Eddie says and Buck’s taken enough Spanish to recognize the command to eat. He uses the spoon to push around what’s in the bowl.

“It’s chicken noodle soup,” Eddie offers, looking slightly sheepish. “I didn’t have enough time to make it from scratch—that’s how I normally make it for Christopher, with diced green chiles and cilantro, you know, the proper way—but I hope the store bought kind is okay—”

Eddie’s hardly rambling, but Buck cuts him off anyway. “It’s great, Eddie, thank you. For all of this. Thank you for everything, you didn’t have to do this.”

Eddie just gives him a smile like he’s an idiot, and it’s so wonderfully normal and mundane that Buck can’t help but smile back.

“I know that,” Eddie teases. “Eat your soup, _cariño_.”

Eddie turns and heads back toward the kitchen and Buck’s face heats up, and not at all from the fever. Eddie knows Buck knows some Spanish, which means the use of that nickname in particular was intentional. The thought makes Buck heat up all over and he ducks his head to focus on his soup, his chest feeling full and tight in a good way.

After he’s eaten his soup, all the activity of the morning is starting to weigh on him. He puts the bowl on the table and moves to lay down. He’s not laying down for five minutes when Eddie wanders back into the room.

“Uh-uh. If you fall asleep here, I can’t carry your heavy ass upstairs to your bed.” Eddie starts pulling on Buck. “Come on, get up.”

Buck whines, but rises and leans heavily on Eddie when he lets him. Eddie supports him for their entire walk. Halfway up the stairs, Buck says, “What if you get sick?”

Eddie shrugs as best he can with Buck’s arm around his shoulders. “Then you’ll take care of me,” he says, like it’s simple.

And maybe it is. Maybe Buck’s been a big part of the puzzle this entire time, but maybe this is Eddie handing it to him and not expecting anything but what he knows Buck is willing to give him, which is the world, in Buck’s case. He wonders if Eddie will give him the same.

“I will,” Buck promises, and maneuvers his hand so that it’s holding Eddie’s, rather than Eddie holding his forearm. Eddie, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate and interlocks their fingers and Buck feels himself fall a little more in love with him.

They get upstairs and Eddie gently gets him into bed. He pulls the covers over Buck and Buck lets him and when he starts to lean back, Buck grabs his hand again, which effectively halts Eddie in his tracks.

“Stay,” Buck mutters. Eddie’s face softens.

“I will. Let me go clean up and I’ll be right back.”

Eddie squeezes his hand once and pulls away. Buck hears him retreat downstairs and the sound of the washing machine going, dishes being put away. He closes his eyes and snuggles into his covers.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but soon enough there’s a hand at his forehead again and Eddie is saying, “Sit up and drink this.”

Buck begrudgingly obliges and sits up in order to drink from the little medicine cup that Eddie is offering. When he’s drank it, Eddie makes him drink from a cup of water until it’s at least half gone, then he lets Buck lie back down again. Buck closes his eyes and there’s some commotion, clothes ruffling and shoes coming off. A couple seconds later, the bed is dipping beside Buck and Eddie is sliding in.

Buck immediately scoots over and into Eddie’s space, which Eddie wonderfully allows. Eddie wraps his arm around Buck’s shoulders and pulls him into an embrace. Buck latches tightly on and he feels Eddie press his lips to his forehead again.

“Still checking my temperature?” Buck asks, smiling. “Like Christopher.” Eddie lips stretch into a smile of his own, still pressed against Buck’s forehead.

“Was the first time. This time is just because,” Eddie says.

Buck hums. “Are we going to talk about it?” he asks. Eddie intertwines his legs with Buck’s and rubs his back.

“I think we’re pretty much on the same page at this point,” Eddie says, gesturing to their position. “But if you want to, we’ll wait until you’re better. Just go to sleep, _amor_.”

Buck sleepily smiles and tucks his face into Eddie’s neck. “ _Amor_ , huh? _Tú eres mi amor_.”

Eddie’s grip tightens and he whispers something into Buck’s skin that Buck doesn’t catch, but leaves him smiling all the same as he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh i wrote this like two months ago and forgot about it (as i seem to do with all my fics) and now i've found it again and here we are. it's been too long since i've posted anything for this fandom and i've still got more to come so look out for more stuff!
> 
> also, i totally have that same headcanon that buck speaks at least conversational spanish and can understand it fairly well. that being said, the spanish translations are:
> 
> come - eat (it's a command)  
> cariño - sweetheart/darling  
> amor - love  
> tú eres mi amor - you are my love
> 
> i only know a little bit of spanish and i definitely don't know slang all that well, so if anyone has better translations, please let me know! thank you all so much for reading! <33


End file.
